Green Ice: A Deadly High (19 page)

“No way,” Mancini growled, revving the Thunderbird engine. “We don’t turn back for anything.” He pulled out his handgun and rolled the vehicle forward to meet the approaching crowd head on.

“Ah, shit,” Trey wailed
, as Mancini dumped his foot hard on the gas pedal.

“Keep your arms and anything else inside the car,” Mancini yelled. “I’ll try and get us through this as quickly and painlessly as possible.”

The Thunderbird jolted forward, gathering speed. The snarling infected horde padded across the blacktop towards the onrushing vehicle. Trey drew his Heckler and Koch handgun, aiming the barrel out the side of the car. Jorge and Leticia slid down the backseats, huddling into the foot wells.

“Just try and not bust up my ride, man,” Trey pleaded.

Mancini fired the first shot at a tall, athletically built man, dressed in a green, soccer shirt. The infected man was leading the pack and the first to reach the side of the car. Mancini aimed and fired. The round zipped into the guy’s open mouth and blew out the back of his head, producing a red mist that hung briefly in the air.

Three more of the infected
mob raced towards the front of the Thunderbird. Mancini swerved from side to side, doing his best to avoid slamming into the main cluster of the crowd. Trey fired two rounds, missing with the first and clipping a woman’s shoulder with the second. The gunshot put her down on the tarmac and her legs were crushed beneath the Thunderbird’s wheels.

Mancini fired again at a bulky guy who tried to leap into the car’s interior. The round grazed the side of the infected man’s head, tearing open a bloody stripe in his scalp.
He clung to the side of the car but couldn’t hold his grasp on top of the door. The forward motion of the vehicle caused him to roll forward across the blacktop, bowling over a few of his cohorts.

Mancini fish tailed the car but managed to keep control of the steering wheel.
Gnarled finger nails scraped along the exterior paintwork as the infected swiped at Trey and Mancini in the front seats.

Trey fired another shot at a middle aged woman with long black hair, who grabbed at the side of the windshield. The round pierced the woman’s forehead and caused the back of her skull to erupt with the exit wound. She released her grip on the windshield and flopped to the blacktop.

Mancini swerved again, driving through the space between the last two infected people. He righted the car and kept his foot firmly on the gas pedal. Trey turned his head and watched the remains of the contaminated horde turn and give chase. They sprinted along the road after the Thunderbird.

“Shit, they’re still following us,” Trey yelled.

“They’ll keep on coming,” Mancini said, glancing in the rear view mirror. “Looks like your pal, Luiz sold a little more of that green shit to somebody in that village, Jorge.”

“Man, this is getting way out of hand,” Trey sighed, rubbing the side of his head.

Jorge crawled out of the foot well onto his seat and looked behind the Thunderbird. He turned back to Mancini with an expression of terror on his face.

“How many did you kill back there?”

“Not enough,” Mancini snapped. “There was too many of them to take them all down. You’re going to have to hope that the Mexican law enforcements or the military can put a lid on this whole situation before it becomes a fucking national disaster.”

“Is there any cure for this infection?” Leticia asked, nudging herself back into her seat. “Surely, those people can’t stay in that state forever?”

Mancini turned his head slightly towards the backseats. “You saw for yourself back at the motel how quick that disease spreads. It seems to only take a bite from one of those infected people to spread the disease.”

“Yeah, it looks almost as if they physically die first before they turn into those damn ugly bastards,” Trey added. “I know it sounds crazy but I saw those guys convulse on the ground after they snorted those green crystals. They looked like they were dead and then they just got up again and started ripping each other to shit.”

“Is there any cure for this, Jorge?” Mancini asked. “Something like an antidote?”

Jorge shook his head.
“Not that I know of. As I said before, I was only involved with distribution. Luiz was the chemist but I doubt whether he knew the affects of the product would be so devastating. I’m sure he didn’t intend this to happen.”

“Didn’t you try any samples or something?” Mancini asked.

“We gave a few samples of the first batch to a couple of users back in LA but we didn’t try out or provide any samples of this new, refined batch to anybody.”

“That figures,” Mancini huffed.
“If you’d unleashed this shit in LA, you’d have one hell of a problem right now. Let’s just hope we can contain this situation before it becomes an outbreak of monu-
fucking
-mental proportions.” Mancini swiveled in his seat to take a half glimpse at Jorge. “You need to call Luiz and find out exactly what the fuck is going on and how many more samples of that green shit he sold on the road to La Paz.”

Mancini took a glimpse beyond the tail end of the car and saw the pursuing gang of crazies recede into the distance.

“We’ll pull over when we’ve put a few miles between us and those freaks and then you can make the call.”

Jorge briefly nodded and Mancini turned his attention back to the road ahead.
He shook his head and muttered under his breath. The enormity of the situation was rising with every mile they drove further towards their destination. Mancini knew they had to find the stash of green crystals and destroy them before the whole state of affairs became uncontrollable. A simple assignment was rapidly elevating from a pain in the ass and turning into one of the most difficult tasks of his life.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Mancini drove onward for a further ten minutes, estimating he was roughly driving one mile per minute and pulled the car over onto the shoulder. He swiveled in his seat.

“Okay, Jorge. Make that fucking call, right now,” he growled. “I’ve had about as much of this shit as I can take. We’re going to have those infected fuckers or the cops swarming all over
us if we don’t get this total fucking mess cleared up real soon.” Mancini killed the engine and hauled himself from the driver’s seat. He walked up and down the shoulder beside the car, rolling his neck and arching his back, in attempt to alleviate the aches and pains pulsing throughout his body.

Trey turned in his seat to check on Leticia. She sat motionless with her head forward, her hair flopping over her face.

“You okay?” Trey whispered, brushing her hair away from her face. Her eyes were tear stained and her run mascara had begun to dry in smears on her cheeks.   

“I’m never going to get back home, am I?” she muttered.
“Those infected people are going to be everywhere.”

Trey sighed. “We get this job done and do it right and we all get to go home.” He tried to sound credible but wasn’t totally convinced they could pull this assignment off without any of them getting killed in the process.

“Talking of which, you need to make that call to Luiz right now, Jorge,” Mancini instructed, tossing Jorge his phone. His feet scuffed in the dust beside the Thunderbird as he impatiently strolled back and forth. “Make the call on my cell phone and don’t mention the fact we’re on our way down there. If you do warn him in any way, you’re a dead man. I’ll shoot you right here.” He drew his handgun and cocked it for effect.

Leticia whimpered at the sight of the firearm so Trey helped her out from the car. The two of them took a slow walk along the shoulder, a few yards from the Thunderbird.
Jorge stared at Mancini’s cell phone in his hands.

“Okay, it’s just you and me now, Jorge,” Mancini said. “If you can’t remember his number, we’ll look through your old phone. It’s in the glove box
if you need it.”

“No, give me a second. I can remember the number,” Jorge stammered.
“He may not reply if he doesn’t recognize the number though.”

“Just damn well try it, Jorge, will you,” Mancini growled. “You’re starting to piss me off with all your bullshit.”

Jorge nervously wiped sweat from his forehead and began punching the numbers into the cell phone. Mancini lit a cigarette and waited for Jorge to speak.

“It’s gone to voice mail,” Jorge whispered, glancing up at Mancini.

“Well, leave a message for him to call you back on this number, urgently. And make sure you speak in English.”

Jorge nodded. “
Luiz?...I have lost my original cell phone but I have a replacement. Call me back on this number when you get this message. I need to speak with you immediately about a very serious matter. I have to come to La Paz to find you. Things have gone very wrong, my friend. Call me back as soon as possible…please.” He cut the connection and handed Mancini back the phone. “That is all I could do.”

Mancini sighed and replaced his phone back into his pants pocket. He made the handgun safe and stuffed it back into his waistband.
They’d have to keep trying to call Luiz at every opportunity. Traveling to La Paz without knowing his location was going to be a big waste of time.

“You better hope he calls you right back, Jorge or we’re all in deep shit.”

Mancini climbed back into the driver’s seat and honked the horn. Trey and Leticia turned back to the Thunderbird and Mancini waved for them to return.

“Well? Do we know where we’re going or what?” Trey asked when they drew closer.

Mancini sighed. “Not exactly. Luiz isn’t answering his cell phone.”

“Ah, man. That really sucks. You sure this dude is calling the right number?” He flashed Jorge a conceited glance.
“He could be like, trying to jerk us off.”

Leticia hesitantly crawled into the backseat alongside Jorge. Mancini turned to look at him.

“I don’t think he’s even that stupid. Are you, Jorge?”

Jorge nodded. “No, I called him. You heard me leave a message. It was the correct number, I’m certain of it.”

Trey spat into the dust before he slumped back into the passenger seat. “I’m sick of this shit,” he muttered.

Mancini felt the same way but
felt he had to maintain an air of professionalism so he kept his own thoughts to himself. He fired up the engine and rolled the car back onto the road, glancing in the rear view mirror for any sign of the advancing bunch of crazies from the village behind them.

The highway remained clear of traffic and people. They drove
through sporadic settlements of small houses and acres of dusty, barren land, with partial patches of trees and cactus plants.

“We’ll probably need to gas up before we hit La Paz,” Trey said.
Mancini nodded in acknowledgement. Trey reached into the glove box and took out the map. He studied the route to La Paz. “Holy crap, this damn highway dog legs right across the whole peninsula, man. We’ll be driving right out of our way to get where we need to be.”

“I figured as much,” Mancini groaned.
He took out his cell phone from his pants pocket and checked the messages. Luiz still hadn’t returned the call and he began to worry what the hell had gone down with the cartel and the green crystals. Mancini turned on the stereo and played the Surf Rock CDs once again. He leaned across the seats and took out Jorge’s cell phone from the glove box. The screen was cracked and the display looked a little fuzzy. Mancini scrolled through the contact list and found Luiz’s number. He checked the digits matched to the call Jorge had made on his own phone. He pressed the call button on Jorge’s damaged phone but the screen immediately went blank. The cell phone was definitely broken. Mancini tossed it back into the glove box and slammed the cover closed.   

They stopped to grab some food at a small store further down the highway and Trey took over the driving duties once they pulled back onto the road.
Traffic on the highway seemed non-existent and Mancini wondered why the whole area was so desolate. Trey pulled into a garage a few miles further down the road, rolling the Thunderbird to a standstill next to the gas pumps.

“Is this place even open for business?” he said, glancing around the dark interior of the station.

“I’m not so sure,” Mancini muttered. “Let’s get out and take a look around, but be on your guard.”

Trey cut the engine and got out of the car. “Hello?
Anybody around?” He shrugged then opened the gas tank cover and inserted the nozzle from the pump. The gas started to pump into the tank when he applied the trigger. “It seems to be pumping fine,” he said to Mancini. “Hey, maybe we can gas up for free.”

Mancini wasn’t so sure.
Although the place was eerily silent, he felt as though they were being watched. “This don’t feel right,” he muttered, placing his hand on the butt of his firearm inside his waistband.

Trey
stayed beside the pump but Mancini cautiously stepped forward toward the station, squinting to try and see through the darkened plate glass window to the interior. He stopped when he noticed a pool of blood on the ground, a few feet from the station doorway. The door remained open a fraction of an inch and Mancini heard the whirr of refrigerators and the air conditioning system inside the building. The power was still on but the interior lights were out. He trod a few steps closer to the door and nudged it open a few further inches, then took a couple of backward paces.